


progress check

by stubborn_jerk



Series: corporate romance [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Office, Fluff and Humor, Footnotes, Genderfluid Character, Getting Together, Getting to Know Each Other, Gray-Aromantic Crowley, M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-14
Updated: 2020-01-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:09:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22253929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stubborn_jerk/pseuds/stubborn_jerk
Summary: Anathema nudged her knee under the table, swallowing her mouthful of congee. “Quit stalling, you’ve used every excuse now. How was your date!”Crowley groaned, stirring her coffee. “How the fuck are you so one-track minded? On a Monday? Why do you even give a rat’s arse if Aziraphale was a bastard?”Tracy picked at her food. “Dear, try not to deflect and this’ll be over just as soon as it’s started, yeah?”Anathema nodded vigorously, “You heard her. I have to know how much time I have left as your friend if he was as nice as I think he is.”“If you don’t let me talk, you won’t have long,” she sneered.
Relationships: Aziraphale & God (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley & Anathema Device, Crowley & Madame Tracy (Good Omens)
Series: corporate romance [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1601995
Comments: 19
Kudos: 99
Collections: Good Omens Human AUs





	progress check

**Author's Note:**

> here it is! part two of company secrets! because i managed (?) to be funny in that one? haha

Anathema and Tracy cornered her just as she’d walked out of the meeting room with Hastur, on her way to a well-earned smoke.

It wasn’t necessarily disastrous, and Hastur wasn’t completely incapable at his job, but Crowley liked her successes to be absolute. If the journalist had showed even the slightest bit of confidence, it could cost the company everything*. She couldn’t stand Hastur and his smug, blasé crap.

[*This, of course, was an overstatement. Crowley had an innate paranoia to her that was just as built in as the stifling perfectionism and anxiety.]

Satisfied with the way her skirt pulled at her knees as she clacked her heels loudly in the way she knew would be obnoxious to Hastur and would have the journalist looking over his shoulder to stare at her arse, Crowley was startled when a hand gripped her arm, and she was pulled towards the break room.

“What–”

Anathema whirled around, manic grin on her face as she gripped Crowley’s other arm to pull her close. “It has been two days since we talked, you had better not be waiting for me to hold you by knifepoint* to find out what happened with you and Mister Lifeguard.”

[*Unbeknownst to the security staff of their building, Anathema made it a habit to carry a knife at all times. Living in London as a gender-fluid insurance agency lawyer, Crowley more than understood her caution. Being her friend, Crowley didn’t think the constant threat of being stabbed was necessary.]

“Now, dearie,” Tracy placated, pulling them apart. “That won’t be necessary, I’m sure our Anthony will explain, now, right?”

Still a bit frazzled, Crowley gave her a shaky nod. “Yeah, um, yeah. Oh, and it’s, um, she/her, today, Marj.”

Tracy nodded. “See, Anathema? Now, let her go before you damage the sleeve of that wonderful blouse.”

Anathema let go, raising a brow. “I know she’s going to tell us. It’s just that you,” she pointed her finger (thank God, it wasn’t a knife) at Crowley’s chest, “You haven’t texted or called all weekend and I respected your privacy and want for rest, I love you very much, but as your friend, I want to know about how good of a kisser that magician dude was because you would have hemmed and hawed at my ear all weekend if he was even the _slightest bit_ of an ass*.”

[*This, of course, was true. Crowley had, once or twice**, called Anathema on Saturday evenings after a Grindr date to grouse and invite her over for a cuppa or some pizza.

**Crowley has done this approximately fifty times in the last five years of their friendship. They’ve been friends since Anathema interned at E Insurances.]

Crowley threw a look behind her to make sure Hastur or anyone from Legal was lurking behind some corner*. Once satisfied with her investigation, she looked back to see two expectant looks. Crowley sighed. “Alright, I’ll spill, just– could you wait until we’re all on break? You _know_ Ligur is loose-lipped. Don’t even get me _started_ on Eric.”

[*Legal was known for lurking and pranking on their free time. Crowley, someone frequently shocked despite the frequency of her being victim, was a fan favourite.]

Anathema squinted at her with mock suspicion, but sighed. “Yeah, sure. Where’re we eating today? Because I’ve been craving and I don’t know what my mouth wants but it is definitely not shitty British food.”

Tracy made a sound of mock offense.

“You pregnant?” Crowley asked drily.

“Har.”

Crowley made a face at her. “We’ll just go across the road and see what they’re serving, alright? I’ll see you guys at the front.”

Work continued when Tracy and Anathema left. The last two people calling them in to the meeting room were investigative journalists. 

She was due to meet with Advertising and PR again to go over the contracts and make sure the bloggers and complaints kept off E’s dick, so to speak. She wasn’t looking forward to it, even if Tracy was a marvellous woman, all around a miracle to work with. Advertising and PR were soul-sucking professions Crowley wanted as little to do with them as possible.

She was middle management, for fuck’s sake, why was she the one swamped in this? This was _definitely_ Ligur’s job.

By the time she and Tracy stumbled out of the lift and ambled with Anathema across the street, all Crowley wanted to do was crawl back into bed.

Anathema nudged her knee under the table, swallowing her mouthful of congee. “Quit stalling, you’ve used every excuse now. How was your date!”

Crowley groaned, stirring her coffee. “How the fuck are you so one-track minded? On a Monday? Why do you even give a rat’s arse if Aziraphale was a bastard?”

Tracy picked at her food. “Dear, try not to deflect and this’ll be over just as soon as it’s started, yeah?”

Anathema nodded vigorously, “You heard her. I have to know how much time I have left as your friend if he was as nice as I think he is.”

“If you don’t let me talk, you won’t have long,” she sneered.

* * *

Laughing, they stepped out of the Italian place, a bit tipsy and a lot giddy with company. The brisk night air kissed their cheeks, and despite four layers and thermal underwear on, Crowley felt the chill crawl in, still. 

Shoving the takeaway bottle of wine into his coat’s largest pocket, he took a deep breath (smelled a bit smoggy, not going to lie) and watched his breath puff up in front of him.

Cursed genes*. What the hell was the deal with him being prone to the cold despite coming from way north?

[*The Crowleys were from Scotland, a fact Crowley wasn’t all too thrilled about**, going so far as faking his accent. When he was, tired, stressed, having a panic attack, surprised, or even a hint off sober, it tended to slip out if he didn’t keep his sentences clipped.

**It was one of the shortest stories in his life, he just didn’t want to talk about it.]

He glanced at Aziraphale, who’d been the loveliest dinner companion all evening, puffing breaths out into the cold, with his red cheeks and little nose popping up from under his knit scarf. How was a man his age so... cute*? “So, where to now, angel?”

[*Crowley’s dilemma here, see, is rooted in the fact that most of the men his age that he’d been with, if they weren’t coworkers, were one-time flings. He wasn’t one for staring intently at a bloke while he was getting a good seeing to. Aziraphale, in this regard, was a diamond in the rough.]

Aziraphale rolled his eyes* with a flush, “Really, are you going to call me that all evening?”

[*As he had the last three times. The first time Crowley did it, he spluttered for about ten seconds and Crowley had to pour him another drink.]

“S’much as I can, yeah. Like I said, it’s pretty on brand with you, y’know, being flight lieutenant and saving my life*. Nice bloke, knows how to fly, cherubic features all around. See?”

[*This is, of course, despite the fact that Crowley was barely in the pool long enough to drown. Aziraphale will never correct this, even years down. But, what neither of them know won’t hurt too terribly.]

Aziraphale wiggled his shoulders in the most delightful way that Crowley was thrilled to know was a regular mannerism of his. “If you say so, dear boy.”

Crowley chuckled. “I do. Now, where to?”

“Hm… Don’t suppose you know a chip shop nearby? I’m afraid I’m not entirely familiar with, erm, this part of town, so to speak.”

“You kidding? It’s barely a bus ride from Soho. Two-minute bike ride and you’re there.”

Aziraphale shrugged. “Bit of a homebody, I’m afraid. I’m sure you know the way around.”

Crowley raised a brow at that, then deliberately let his eyes wander over the curves and edges that was Aziraphale’s build. He relished in the thrill of seeing the tip of Aziraphale’s ears redden after the fact. “I’ll pretend that homebody thing was a joke, for my pride’s sake. Come on, I know a place that sells decent chips around here. Follow me.”

* * *

Anathema giggled. “You took him to get fries—”

“Chips,” Tracy corrected.

“—after eating at some posh Mayfair restaurant? Are you serious?”

“Dead serious,” Crowley insisted, shaking her head purely for the satisfaction of feeling her earrings sway with the movement. “S’not exactly like we’re looking for _finesse_ , Anathema, we’re pushing thirty-fucking-four and fairly dedicated to our jobs.”

Tracy placed her manicured hand on Crowley’s arm. “And you look not a day over twenty-five, my dear. You’ve still got it.”

Crowley rolled her eyes. “Gee. _Thanks_ , Marj.”

When no further questions were asked, she took out her phone and checked her eyeliner (still impeccable), then her lipstick*. Might have to powder up a bit after a wash, but it was all still where it was supposed to be.

[*This was a stall tactic, of course, because Crowley was wearing that bold smudge-proof matte number Anathema gifted on her birthday. Though, one could say that it was also a force of habit, as Crowley had grown used to and still actively liked smudged makeup for perfectly innocent and non-sexual reasons**.

**False.]

Pocketing her phone, she looked up from the table to, yet again, two expectant gazes. “What?”

Anathema stammered. “What do you mean ‘what?’ What happened next, dumbass? What, do you think we’re just here to know what happened after dinner— _ay!_ _Tan tonto_.”

Tracy scooted her stool over to rub soothing circles on Anathema’s back. The Spanish cursing settled as Crowley, unimpressed, took a sip of her coffee. “There, there, dearie. I’m sure she’s just a bit hungover.”

Crowley scoffed. Unbelievable. “I am _not_ hungover! It was good red, yeah, and we continued drinking at the chip shop, but I wasn't _drunk_!”

Tracy hummed, nodding.

* * *

"Do you like your job?"

A look passed over Anthony’s face. Well, Aziraphale assumed so. It was hard to totally parse, with the medicinal sunglasses* he had on. "Mmh,” he grunted. “Not a big fan of powdered wigs, personally. Thank God they keep me largely out of court. Pays the bills alright, I s’pose."

[*Allegedly, they were because his eyes were light sensitive. Aziraphale didn’t know if the man was messing with him or telling the truth.]

Hm. Rather safe response.

The whole evening, Anthony had been nothing but daring. If he were Aziraphale, he would probably call it oversharing. It was kind of inspiring, if a little worrying.

"Really? There aren't any other... suitable jobs you'd enjoy that could also pay the bills?"

"As well as this one? No, can't say there are,” Anthony said, pouring more wine into the plastic cup they got with the order of chips. “S'not a matter of enjoying it anyway. I’ve been with E for around ten years now, I don’t really know if any other company’s going to offer me more than what I already earn."

Aziraphale made a confused sound. " _Ten_ _years_ , wha–that’s more than enough for other companies to fight tooth and nail to have you on their teams. Far as I know, E’s never lost a legal battle in all forty years they’ve been standing. I would know, Gabriel _insists_ on inviting cousin Luci every holiday."

Anthony stole a fry, knee starting to shake under the table. "Nn. M’not really good at what I do.”

Aziraphale pretended not to notice, grabbing another one and nudging the packets of ketchup closer to Anthony as subtle as he could. “I’m sure your modesty’s quite the farce, dear.”

Anthony flushed, made a few flustered sounds, then, “If I’m as good as you believe, they don’t trust me with the really big jobs. My money’s on the fact that I’ve had too many cases that lasted too long. Comes with being a bit of a perfectionist, I s’pose.”

"Anthony.” Aziraphale wiped the excess grease on his fingers on a handkerchief, then reached out to put a soothing hand on Anthony’s.

Anthony looked up from the table, eyes wide but not fearful, so Aziraphale kept his hand there. “My dear, if you don't enjoy your job, then what's the point?"

Anthony huffed. "The point is I’m not wasting ten years being loyal to this company, with my pay, to just start indoor gardening or whatever because I _want_ to. Terrible waste of time, that."

"...Indoor gardening or working for E?"

Anthony’s anxious expression made way for bemusement*,"Y'know what, you decide, angel. How 'bout that? Definites are boring."

[*If Aziraphale were to, as the youth say today, _reach_ , he could even say that it was fond.]

"Agreed,” Aziraphale relented.

"Good man."

"Pun intended?”

Bemusement gave way to full-blown amusement now, and it thrilled Aziraphale to see this man smile genuinely. "Ha. How 'bout you though? You don't... _seem_ the type that should be in Security."

Drily, Aziraphale popped a chip into his mouth, "No, s’pect not. Security men shouldn't have shiny top coats and a skincare routine…"

Anthony scoffed, "Oh, you _know_ what I mean. You're... well,” he made a gesture towards Aziraphale’s general physique.

“Fat? Effeminate? Posh? Gay?”

“You!” Anthony laughed, brows furrowing, probably, at the little grin Aziraphale had. “I mean, your siblings get the rest of the Executive spots and you get Security? Is that fair or is it because you don't want to work at GI?"

Oh, well, this is going somewhere he definitely did _not_ want it going. Aziraphale sobered up* and rearranged himself on his seat.

[*Not more than he could, mind. He wasn’t soused, but he was on his way to tipsy just fine.]

Deflecting, Aziraphale said, "I like working at the company just fine."

Anthony leaned his head on his palm, one elegantly plucked brow* raised. "But...?"

[*Aziraphale was pushing thirty-four and had been in London for the past five years. He’s been around the nightlife to know that Anthony wasn’t born with brows that good. If he was, well, God hath blessed this man.]

Aziraphale let the silence hold the question there and hoped, fervently, that Anthony dropped it as he kept eating chips as imploringly as he could without looking ridiculous.

Anthony stared at him, and Aziraphale knew he was staring at him, because in the frankly glaring white incandescent lights inside the chip shop, it was hard to deny he could see them in all their mascara-ed, sharply-lined beauty.

Feeling quite warm in the face, Aziraphale took a deep breath and relented. "Oh, well, if you _must_ know, I find the idea of running a library more appealing than standing attention on the way to all those dusty old servers _all day_ or, if you still want me going Executive, signing deals left and right! They're entirely too noisy—er, both clients _and_ the servers, mind—and, well, I know they're important but they're just so—"

"Then, why not?” And oh, if the question turned back on him wasn’t so painfully prying. He was half-tempted to apologize for troubling dear Anthony so. 

Despite Aziraphale’s no doubt impending breakdown* at his own social incompetence, Anthony pushed through, “You seem to have the queer old librarian aesthetic down to pat. Don’t you have the degree for it?"

[*Though otherwise not affecting his job performance, being effeminate, posh, and gay _does_ mean that Aziraphale was a tad overdramatic.]

“I do, rather...” Aziraphale admitted glumly. “Got my bachelor’s for Library Science about... two years ago now, actually.”

Waving his hand around, Anthony nodded. “Well, there you go! Why on Earth not?”

Looking away, Aziraphale said, "Mm, I'd... rather not say, actually. If you don't mind. Rather personal."

"Oh, no. That's alright. More wine?"

"Please. Thank you."

* * *

Most people Aziraphale’s age wrote journals, maybe even a backlog of blog posts. Just to see where their life was going or has gone. It was refreshing, after all, to read or see what had gone on in one’s life the month previous, to remember that the passage of time never stopped moving for any disaster or blessing.

Aziraphale Goode was not like most people.

Mondays meant that Aziraphale was free from work. First Mondays meant that he was knelt by the foot of the small altar he had in his flat, in his little own tradition.

“I can’t help but think that him asking me out was your way of nudging things to my favour up there,” Aziraphale laughed, looking up at the portrait of Gen Goode on the altar. “I mean, come on. What would possess a person that good-looking into asking me out?”

Silence. Aziraphale didn’t expect her to respond in any way. He wasn’t _that_ deluded in grief. But nothing stopped him from pausing as if Gen was responding. It gave him a bit of solace.

“I know, I know, but you’re required to say I’m handsome, Ma. It’s part of the... parent code, or something. Anyway, I’ve never met someone _that_ good-looking take interest in me my whole life. Ever. I was certain, at some point in that evening, he was going to lean in and point at someone with a camera hiding somewhere and say, ‘It’s all a prank, Aziraphale!’ And it’s not far off. I wouldn’t put it past Gabriel for a good laugh.”

He looked down at his fingers. “But Anthony was a perfect gentleman. Even walked me back here last night. And it didn’t seem like his style, you know?”

Pause.

“Yes, it’s mean to judge him like that, rather. I have no right to, being as I am, but you had to _see_ him, Ma! After changing out of our wet clothes at the resort, he slicked his hair back with... some kind of mousse, I don’t know, but it can’t have been that his hair just dried like that. That’s just too good to be true,” he chuckled. 

“He was wearing this... gray knit-jumper with this blazer. He had this all-black thing going on, and it was just, oh.” Aziraphale sighed, running a hand over his face. “He was like some bad boy from one of those romantic comedies you loved watching, growing up. He seemed more the type of person who’d walk me home, stay the night, and be gone by the morning. You’ve seen a number of blokes pass by here that are like that, Ma, you know the type. Just a fellow after a good time.”

Aziraphale stared up at the picture of her, her eternal smile made immortal in one photograph. He remembered when Uriel took that. They’d all been at the Vintage Aircraft Museum for his birthday, before he joined the air-force.

“If he’s someone you’re telling me to finally love and settle with, I’m not against it, Ma,” he confessed in a whisper. “I just hope that if you’re guiding me, you’ll guide him as well.”

* * *

Tracy insisted on crossing the street with all of them holding hands, for some reason. Crowley didn’t know much about her and didn’t feel close enough to her to ask in case it was a sensitive topic, but being touch-starved, she wasn’t entirely against it either.

“I still feel like you’re fucking with me, Crow,” Anathema said as they stepped onto the island to wait for the light to go green again. “Like, I’ve never known you to be the type to _not_ fuck and move on. I mean, unless you’re going for a change of heart, I’m not against it either–”

“I don’t know,” Crowley interrupted, and she meant it. Walking around London with Aziraphale and a half-empty bottle of red the other night had been the most open she’d been with herself and another person, and she’d decided on that kind of honesty the moment they separated at the hotel, before the night even began. But it felt… odd. In a good way, mind. Just odd. 

She gave Tracy and Anathema a look, hoping they could parse her troubles through eye contact alone. She’s never been in a position quite like this before. She knew herself as someone who wasn’t the type to settle. She felt precarious, unbalanced at the edge of somewhere high up.

Aziraphale had asked him to another date when she walked him to his flat that night. They were both free the following Wednesday*.

[*Crowley winced internally. She had to tell Anathema that Gilmore Girls night was cancelled. Messy thing, rearranging schedules.]

The light turned green and they pushed on to the front of the building. “What if I don’t want to just sleep with him?”

“I think, dear, that means that you think he matters more than just a quick shag,” Tracy said slowly, if a bit patronising. “And that you want it to matter more than just that. You want to see more of him, that’s alright! You may even end up having _feelings_ for him.”

Crowley shrugged. “Never been the type to have that happen to me before. I mean, I like most of the guys I sleep with, but not so much want to… have them around for dinner and learn more about them, y’know?”

“Like, ever?” Anathema asked, sounding a bit incredulous. “Are you pulling my leg? Is that what’s happening?”

“I’m serious!” Crowley laughed. “Thought it was the done thing, you know?”

“Never fallen in love, dearie?” Tracy asked.

Crowley made a face. “I’m not a teenager, Trace. Love’s for chumps.”

“You’ve never had someone try to date you after a shag?” asked Anathema with her usual tact.

She shook her head. “It’s on my profile. Didn’t really think I’d have the time to but… here I am, _making_ time for him?”

“So, you thought you were aromantic until, like, you went out with Aziraphale? Is that what you’re getting at?”

Crowley shrugged, fidgeting. “I guess.”

“Well,” Tracy said, with some finality as she steered the girls towards the building’s entrance, “We learn something new every day, ladies. We’ll talk more about it over some tea, alright? It’s our Golden Girls night and it’s a good a time as any to wrangle dear Anathema in to watch it with us, yes?”

Crowley nodded.

She hoped to God or whoever was up there she could maintain at least an iota of professionalism with all this to think about until Wednesday. It’d take a real miracle for her to remain patient enough until then.

Unless…

* * *

Aziraphale tidied the altar, then blew out the candles. He was about to start the kettle and settle in to start his reread of Pride and Prejudice when his phone pinged.

Picking it up from the centre table, he was surprised to see who it was from.

The image was the first thing he saw, the bold red of lipstick and sharp eyeliner framed by Anthony’s lovely hair in natural waves. _Felt a bit femme today, hope you don’t mind. excited for our next date. what are you up to?_

Smiling, he punched out, _You look very lovely! It’s great that they let you do that in the workplace. What i wouldn’t GIVE to not have to sneak in lipgloss to work anymore. Also i’m actually still reeling from the events of the other night. It was the most fun i’ve had with someone in quite a while. Was just about to have tea and read some austen, actually._

Anthony doesn’t respond after that, probably busy at work. 

Not minding, Aziraphale set to putting the kettle on and it’s not until the leaves have finished steeping when Anthony finally answered.

 _Not minding that i just came out to you in-text?_ The text read. _you’re a man after my own heart, mr. fell <3 can’t wait to get all dolled up to see you. What austen are you reading?_

Aziraphale hummed, pleased, pouring his tea and grabbing his phone before waddling over to his reading nook and setting the cup down next to his book. He made sure to make himself look extra cozy before snapping a quick picture and sending it with a _Of course i don’t mind! You’re very gorgeous either way, dear. Can’t wait to see your getup, but mostly can’t wait to see you! Holing up with the bennets until late into the night if you don’t mind. Have fun at work, dear!_

**Author's Note:**

> not seen in this fic:  
> anathema groaning while scrolling through their messages that night, "you guys already text like a married couple! what the hell!"
> 
> honestly, i dont think i did my best in this one, but i've deleted a lot of parts of this and i just couldn't... i don't know what's Wrong with it but i feel a bit off-put bc i feel like i've Missed something no matter how much i planned out for it. might just be me though.
> 
> anyway, comments are always appreciated. i recently got into derry girls (and by got into, i mean i finished both seasons in a few hours but thats neither here nor there) and i really recommend it for a pick-me-up. i feel like tracy, crowley, and anathema would like it too. (kinda weird how they all watch shows that say "girls" at the end, and it's all witty female banter? whatever.
> 
> -[tumblr](http://stubbornjerk.tumblr.com)\- -[twitter](http://twitter.com/stubborn_jerk)-


End file.
